AUTHOR: The Corruptor
RATING: PG with some mild swear words
CHARACTERS / PAIRING: Tristan and some other guy
SUMMARY: Tristan’s therapy sessions from GG: Season 1; 3rd person omniscient but mostly from the therapist’s POV
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Ok, here's "The Dissertation"! PROCEED WITH CAUTION... Very Long, Very Pro-Sympathetic-And-Complex Tristan Fic!! Just having some fun trying to sketch out Tristan’s character since we know so little about him. For those of you who might want to skip this (and there may be a couple of you. der!), the basic storyline for this fic is a rehashing of Tristan's thoughts and feelings about what's happened so far in Season One. And please… I’ve never been to a therapist before (though that’s really surprising) so I have no idea exactly how a session is supposed to be except for what I’ve gotten from TV and movies (great sources, if you ask me. D’oh). His main job here is only to help Tristan speak his mind. Also remember patient/doctor/reader confidentiality; since these are Tristan’s private sessions, some parts contain only short excerpts from each session, instead of the entire therapy session.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the clothes on my back, and that annoying shrink. The rest was borrowed from GG and the WB.

They were back to this. They had made so much progress, but like usual, whenever Tristan felt they had made too much progress, he took them back a few steps. Deliberately sabotaged any hopes of getting to the roots of his problems. Tristan knew what his problem was. Rory. Only he wouldn’t blame her. And he didn’t want to be told that she was the one causing him pain. Because in reality, she wasn’t the problem. He was. And he certainly didn’t want to be told that he was causing his own pain. Because if that were the case, the only logical solution would be to give her up, an option he was not willing to consider. Ever.

So Tristan sat in the corner of the couch and looked everywhere but at his companion. He had been in this office enough times to have examined every piece of furniture in detail at least three times. And now, he didn’t even see them anymore, looking through them instead of at them. His companion did not hurry him, did not try to force him to open up.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Tristan glanced up, waiting for him to elaborate. He did. “You mentioned in passing that there had been a party at a classmate’s house.”

Tristan stared at something in the distance. “Madeline’s house. She’s a friend of Paris,” he said absently.

“And you took Summer.”

“Yeah.”

He couldn’t tell what Tristan’s eyes were focused on, if anything. While he stared into the distance, his eyes had turned hazy and unfocused. As if he were examining a picture in his head rather than in the room. “Was it a good party?”

“Probably,” he answered, dismissively. Whatever he was seeing in his head, it was preferable than what he would have seen in the office. Then, as if realizing what he had said, he glanced up briefly to meet his companion’s eye. “Yeah. It was a party. You know.” There really hadn’t been anything special about Madeline’s party. Other than what had occurred.

“Did something happen there?” He knew something had. And he was almost positive that it had had something to do with Rory. The boy always became reticent whenever the topic of the girl came up.

“We broke up,” Tristan revealed simply.

“Who is we?”

Tristan glanced up, slightly annoyed. “Me and Summer,” he answered, caustically, as if there shouldn’t have been any other answer. As if there wouldn’t have been any other correct answer.

“But that’s not what you took back with you from the party,” the man prodded. It was obvious from the young man’s tone of voice that, though the breakup had hurt him, it hadn’t been the utmost thing on his mind during the party. Or even afterwards. Whatever thoughts had consumed his mind… they did not involve Summer.

Tristan stared at him, wondering if he should be serious or sarcastic. He chose the easy way out. “Oh, no. I left my pride and dignity and public humiliation from the breakup back at the party and immediately found another girl to take home with me.” He wasn’t smiling.

The man quirked a smile. “So tell me about the breakup.” He would ignore the sarcasm for now.

Tristan rolled his eyes. “It was a breakup. I’ve been through those. Not exactly the way it usually happens, but still, after awhile, it stops hurting.”

“What was different about this one?” The man leaned forward in his chair as Tristan’s eyes began to wander again.

The boy was agitated. “She broke up with me, okay? In front of everyone. That’s what’s unusual. I’m usually the one who does the breaking up. I’m usually the one who has a different girl on my arm every week. Relationships don’t usually last that long, to the point where either one of us feels like there’s actually a need for a breakup song and dance.” He didn’t seem bitter at all. Just matter of fact.

“Tristan. Why did this relationship last so long?”

Tristan pursed his lips, glancing away. “I don’t know. I was just being addle-minded and forgot that Summer had passed her time limit?” he offered.

The man smiled gently, and Tristan wanted to wipe the sympathetic look off his face. Empathy was the last thing he wanted. “I don’t make any claims to knowing you very well, Tristan. But there’s one thing I can definitely say. And that is that you are not absent-minded. There’s always a reason. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

Tristan stared at the carpet and his fingers picked at the couch cushion. “There doesn’t always have to be,” he reminded, sourly.

“Why not?”

“Because it makes me sound a lot smarter than I really am. And I’m not. I think everything I’ve done so far has proven that,” he revealed, pitifully.

“That’s not true,” the man assured him. “You’re a teenage boy. When I was your age, I did much dumber things than you did. Why would you think that?”

Tristan sighed dejectedly. “Sometimes I don’t want to think. I’m sick of trying to over-think things. I just want to…”

“Feel?” he suggested.

Tristan met his eyes and then averted them quickly. “Summer enjoyed making me the laughingstock of the party. She loved that she got away with cheating on me during the party with some other guys, and having me chase her around like some lovesick puppy. She loved it.”

“Why were you chasing her around like that? You said you liked her, but that she really wasn’t any different than any of the other girls you usually date.” The man resisted the urge to sigh exasperatedly at him. Again, Tristan had managed to avoid answering the question.

“I guess I would have liked for that relationship to have worked,” he mused, quietly.

“Tristan.”

Tristan met his eyes, blue eyes shining with something akin to sadness. “I wanted it to work,” he admitted, ruefully. As if he knew there was no logical explanation for it. As if it went against everything he believed in and would have liked.